“What!” exclaimed Clark, stopping short in amazement, “Freeman thick with Crawford! Why, I thought he couldn’t endure the fellow.”
“That’s what I thought, but Freeman’s ’round with that crowd every recess, and I saw him out driving with Crawford yesterday.”
“I hadn’t an idea of it. That must be stopped,” said Clark with a troubled face. “Crawford’s no kind of a fellow for a little chap like Ray to be with.”
“You’re right, there,” responded Hamlin. “I wouldn’t have my little brother ’round with such a fellow for a good deal.”
They had reached the school by this time, and Hamlin had only time to say, “I shall propose your name at the next meeting of the L. A. O. We need your help against the Antis.”
The Antis were primed for mischief that day. Before the opening exercises were over, Mr. Horton knew that there was a hard day before him. The spirit of rebellion was abroad in the air. His orders were obeyed, but slowly and reluctantly, as if under protest. There was a continual shuffling of feet, knocking of books against desks, dropping of pencils, and a buzzing and murmuring here, there, and everywhere, impossible to locate, yet plainly distinguishable. The L. A. O.’s were orderly and attentive, every one, but the others did their utmost to keep them from making perfect recitations by coughing, laughing, and interrupting as much as they dared. Finally, Mr. Horton sent Crawford to the board to work out a problem. Crawford was very quick when he chose to be. To-day he pretended to be uncertain about his work and put down the figures very slowly. Mr. Horton had taken his stand in the back of the room, the better to watch the unruly ones. Unfortunately, he was very short-sighted, and Crawford took advantage of this fact. He had considerable artistic ability, and could make a likeness with half a dozen strokes, and he could use his right and left hands with equal facility.
So, as with his left hand he slowly worked out the problem, with his right he drew sketches of Mr. Horton on the board, carefully keeping his own broad shoulders between his work and the teacher. In one sketch, Mr. Horton was represented with a pipe in his mouth, in another with his hair à la Pompadour, and again he had the tonsure of a monk, and so on.
Mr. Horton, standing at the back of the room, tried in vain to discover what was causing so much merriment. At last, suspecting that Crawford was at the bottom of it, he suddenly called out, “Stand aside, Crawford, and let me see your work.”
Crawford obeyed, but as he did so he swept the eraser across his last artistic effort. He had to do it so hurriedly, however, that enough remained to show what had been there, and as the teacher returned to the platform, he saw how Crawford had been amusing himself and the class.
“Crawford,” he said, “you will have a failure for this recitation.”